


Thin Lines

by imaginedfables



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Loads of it, Musicians!AU, also this thing is about to get inappropriate, because Kate is done with the Geckos and their bullshit in every universe, because OTHER reasons, because reasons, honestly this is just snark and fluff, including the aforementioned beard, seth's beard makes an appearance, ya know?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginedfables/pseuds/imaginedfables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And let’s make it extraordinarily clear that she, Kate Fuller, is not in any way, shape, or form, interested in the still-nameless bastard neighbor of hers. <br/>Even if his face was too pretty for words.<br/>He was so not her type, anyways. <br/>This is a matter of Pride. <br/>If she stops to fix her hair in the mirror and adds a bit of eyeliner before rushing outside when she hears his car pull into the driveway, well, that’s only because she’s prepping for battle. <br/>War paint, and all that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. do you think I'm stuck-up cause I'm always picking fights?

_“You ain’t got me sussed yet_

_You’re not even close_

_Baby, it’s the one thing that I hate the most_

_All these contradictions pouring out of me_

_Just another girl in the 21 st century.”_

-Can’t Pin Me Down

…

She’s being mature about this.

Kate is fully aware that any other person would have immediately called the police to file a noise complaint, but she’d wanted to be the bigger person and had tried to reach out to her upstairs neighbor before getting anyone else involved. It was a two-story home, with each floor being rented out separately, and she honestly hadn’t been able to believe her luck when she’d passed by and spotted the “For Rent” sign on her way to campus. The space was wide and the price was reasonable and it even had a little garden area that the landlord promised she could take over. Why anyone would give up that home had been a mystery to her.

Not anymore.

_Now she understood._

It was because the absolute biggest asshole in the world lived upstairs.

Kate had only been living there for a week, and she hadn’t had a chance to spot him yet, but she knew it was a man because she could hear him arguing and cursing aloud in the middle of the night as he’d stomp his way up the stairs and slammed the door behind him. And, really, Kate could have lived just fine with that, but _no_ , because not only did he wake her up every single night this week the minute he pulled into the driveway with his ridiculously loud sports car, but he’d then continue to practice his saxophone routine for hours on end.

You know, _at four in the freaking morning_.

Now, Kate could always appreciate a fellow music-lover, even if they weren’t solely dedicated to their craft. The man upstairs was talented, no doubt, but his delivery was sometimes erratic and chaotic and didn’t fit into the mold that was necessary for classical mastery: it was obvious that he was self-taught and had never been formally trained.

Not the way she was and continued to be.

Say whatever you want about her looks and personality, but she could play the cello just as well as the best of them.   

It still didn’t mean she was going to be a bitch and keep her neighbors up at all hours of the night because she felt entitled to it; of course not. She was thoughtful and conscious and kept her practice hours strictly to between twelve and two in the afternoon: a perfectly respectable time that was sure to go unnoticed and could be drowned out with a simple increase of the television volume. She, who was just a month over eighteen, was as considerate as a person could be.

So, she’d set to action: she’d written him a letter politely requesting he kept his rehearsal sessions to normal daytime hours, and had even taken the time to explain that she desperately needed her rest so she could keep up with her early morning classes and prepare for a few local competitions. She’d walked up the flight of stairs and slipped the note under his door before heading out to class and she’d hoped that the man would prove to be just a bit reasonable and give in to her request.

Yeah, the bastard wasn’t budging.

Because that very same night Kate had woken up to the sound of his Louis Armstrong cover being played at an even louder level than usual, and she’d made up her sleep-deprived mind that very second.

Enough was enough.

…

At exactly 3:47 in the morning, she pulled on her thickest robe and shoved her feet into the Hello Kitty slippers Scott gag-gifted her as a going-away present as she grabbed her keys and phone and marched straight to his door, and if she gets a particularly wicked sort of satisfaction out of banging her fists against it repeatedly with all her strength, well, _she’s only human_.

The door opens.

And, you know what, some things just weren’t _fair_ in life.

Things like the fact that her inconsiderate neighbor is too freaking pretty, in a very stereotypical ‘bad boy/asshole who knows he’s hot’, kind of way. He’s got a ridiculously perfect jawline that’s covered in what she’s sure is a meticulously maintained beard and his cheekbones are high enough to put her old high school nemesis to shame. The white wife-beater he’s wearing does all sorts of wonders to highlight the rather impressive and tanned physique he’s packing, but what captures her attention – above all else – is the flame tattoo that runs from his right wrist to the top of his neck. 

Meanwhile, she’s standing at his door with her hair pulled back into a messy bun and her Scooby Doo pajamas peeking out from beneath her robe.

Typical.

“Can I help you?”

Just like that, the magic is broken.

Because he’s arching an eyebrow, staring at her like she’s a stupid little girl that’s bothering him for no reason at all. Everything about him, from his posture to his crossed arms to the angle of his head, yells out _condescending_.

“It’s almost four in the morning.”

“Exactly,” he reiterates. “Now we’ve cleared up that you’ve got a watch, so what the hell are you doing knocking at my door? Unless, of course, you just came here to ogle me, sweetheart.”

Kate’s left flabbergasted.

She’s gaping, okay. She’s is wholly and completely aware that her mouth has dropped open and she’s standing there grasping for words like a fish out of water but, in her defense, it’s not every day (or night, as the situation may call for) that one runs into a man so completely self-obsessed and shamelessly narcissistic.

“Uh, no,” she scoffs once she finally regains control of her vocal chords. “I came here to ask you to stop being such a jerk and stop playing your saxophone so late. I’ve got class in four hours and you’ve been doing the same thing all week.”

“And your point is?”

Either this guy was criminally oblivious or he truly just enjoyed excelling at making life difficult for the people around him.

Her money’s on the latter.

“My point is that I need to sleep, asshole.”

“Yeah, well, you practice your fucking cello right when I’m trying to get some sleep, too, and you don’t see me bitching at you.”

“I practice at a perfectly reasonable hour,” she sniffs, quickly losing body heat against the cool night breeze and praying that she doesn’t start shivering in front of him because her pride might never recuperate. “And if you had a problem with it, all you had to do was say something.”

“What? Should I have slipped a note under your door? Play like we’re in high school and check to see when and what you wrote back?”

“Oh my God, what is your problem?” Kate snaps, taking a step back because there’s a big difference between being rude and just acting like a straight-up asshole who’s verbally attacking her. “You know what? Forget it. I’m calling the landlord in the morning.”

“Good luck with that, Princess,” he hollers after her, and she can feel him watching her walk down the stairs. “And when you complain to Machete 2.0, be sure to remind him that he still owes me five grand.”

…

He doesn’t play his saxophone for the rest of the night.

…

She wasn’t lying about the class.

The thing about university is that, yeah, you get to take all these fantastic classes and work with amazing professors who are the masters in their field – that’s the great part about it; what’s not fun or interesting or in any way captivating, was the other half: the side that included repeating the same general education courses that’d been a nightmare in high school.

Classes like Human Biology, with a professor that loved her job way more than usual and had exams every three weeks on six or seven different chapters and didn’t believe in multiple-choice answers and gave out weekly quizzes for her four-hour lecture. It was those same very classes that had her up studying every night and had blown her already non-existent social life into oblivion.

Seriously, there was something very wrong with her the day she decided to sign up for a four-hour lecture on a Friday morning.

At least she’d gotten some sleep last night.

So she gets up and she brushes her hair, pulls on a sweater before grabbing the purse that doubled as her schoolbag, and starts to head out the door.

She almost trips over when she spots the Starbucks waiting for her, right in front of her door and still steaming hot.

Kate looks around the yard, somehow expecting to find whatever culprit was responsible for the sudden apparition but of course there’s no one there. She leans down and picks up the cup, eyeing it the same way one would a loaded gun, and it’s then that she spots the messy handwriting on its side.

_Sorry_ is scribbled on with a black sharpie, and everything clicks into place.

It was the jerk from upstairs, apparently trying to make amends.

And, she would accept the peace offering, really (and despite the very obvious danger in drinking _anything_ that a practical stranger or _anyone_ else left at your door) except that when she takes the lid off the smell of pumpkin slaps her right across the face and there’s something very offending in having a guy that’s only known you for five minutes automatically assume that your favorite drink _must_ be a Pumpkin Spice Latte. If she’s being honest, she’d rather drink a Venti of about any other coffee in any other shop than have to suffer through one more pumpkin-flavored anything.

Even if her mother had loved them.

Kate sighs, resigning herself to carrying the cup with her at least until she got to campus and found a trash can to dump it in. She’s not rude enough to throw away his, well, _gift_ or apology or whatever, right in front of his face, even if he deserved it, but she doesn’t tolerate him anywhere near enough to pretend like she owes him any courtesies. She locks up the door and spares a quick glance over her shoulder, half hoping to catch him staring out his window, but the curtains are drawn shut and there’s no signs of life coming from inside his half of the building.

Whatever.

She doesn’t have time for this – specially not when she’s running late for class already.

She’ll deal with it later.

…

His car is, for the very first time, missing from the driveway when she gets home from class.

Which, you know, is freaking _weird_.

She’s also not going to even bother trying to figure out how a guy that’s paying the same cheap rent she is, and apparently lending money to the landlord on top of that, is driving a brand new Corvette while obviously having no job to produce that kind of revenue that she can think of. She might have only lived here for a week, so far, but there was definitely something odd about people who leave after sunset and get back before sunrise every single day of the week, and she can already hear her brother’s voice rambling about how it was _evident_ that she was sharing the lot with a _vampire_ and _‘Come on, sis, you know you remember the plot for Fright Night just as well as I do.’_

Yeah, no.

She’s a bit more realistic than that.

Kate swears to God that if she finds out he’s a drug dealer she’s moving out and calling RICO on his ass.   

(And also blaming Scott for jinxing her when she called back home, gushing about the dream house she’d found and how it was so much wiser to move out from the student dorms and stay on her own.)

But, you know what?

_Enough_ with her sudden captivation with that jerk.

She had more important things to do.

Things like rehearsing for the show she was playing next weekend, or practicing the last piece she’d been given, or putting in the time she needed for that analysis paper on Voltaire she’d been putting off for the past two weeks. She could go grocery shopping or she could go for a walk in the park and get some much-needed sunlight to fight off the ghostly complexion she’d been sporting lately. She could go exploring through the city or she could visit a museum or she could, quite frankly, take advantage of her spare time to binge watch Netflix and eat copious amounts of popcorn.

It’s not her fault _Jessica Jones_ is so damn fantastic.   

Honestly, _anything_ but sit there and think about some guy she barely knew like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’d apologized, sort of, and despite his verbal rampage hadn’t picked up his saxophone again after she went to back to her own home, so what she _should_ do is count all of that as a win in her book and be done with it. What she should absolutely _not_ do was sit in her living room, keeping an ear out for the now-familiar sound of his car’s engine so she could ambush (in the most adult-way possible, of course) him before he locked himself in his own home.

And let’s make it extraordinarily clear that she, Kate Fuller, is not in any way, shape, or form, _interested_ in the still-nameless bastard neighbor of hers.

Even if his face was too pretty for words.

He was _so_ not her type, anyways.

This is a matter of Pride.

If she stops to fix her hair in the mirror and adds a bit of eyeliner before rushing outside when she hears his car pull into the driveway, well, that’s only because she’s prepping for battle.

War paint, and all that.

“Hey, you!” Kate calls out the moment he steps out of the black car, causing him to turn his head so fast she wouldn’t be surprised if he got whiplash.

It’s petty, okay.

She is completely aware that she’s being immature and petty and that one of them had to be the adult here, and since it clearly wasn’t going to be him, the responsibility was going to fall on her shoulders. She’d promised her Daddy that she would do her best to make it on her own and that she would always keep her head on straight and held high and that she would be the good Samaritan that turned the other cheek when the going got rough.

Calling out this man on his bullshit fell under none of those guidelines, and she’s sure she’d get a scolding for it if word of it ever got back to her hometown.  

But the look of pure shock splattered across his face makes it completely worth it.

“The next time you want to apologize to someone, either do it to their face or pick a decent cup of coffee.”

…


	2. the good left undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kate is living in denial.   
> The results are not pretty.

Kate’s not sure when – or rather, _how_ – they got here.

Regardless of how many times she bangs her head against the wall in search for answers, it’s nearly impossible to pinpoint the exact moment when Seth (because the asshole was bound to have a typical douchebag name) had transitioned from being the one person who threated to destroy her hard-earned reputation as a fountain of poise and tranquility, to being someone that an unsuspecting bystander could potentially confuse as her _friend_.

Or, _whatever_ , ya know?

…

So, it starts like this:

She (sort of/only if you squint/depends on who you ask/Seth’s a filthy liar) _ambushes_ him when he steps out of his car on the day of the Great Pumpkin Latte Affair.

He, in what Kate has deemed his moment of clarity and her lack of the same, had stared at her as if she’d lost her mind (and, to be honest, she’s not quite sure that he was absolutely wrong in his original assumption, and given that it has been two damn months since the aforementioned day, there’s a 50/50 chance that she should probably get some professional help) before shaking his head and laughing underneath his breath.

“You know what?” he’d asked, slamming the door to his car shut and leaning back against it in a pose that’s so smooth and swift she doesn’t doubt he’s practiced it before. “You’re right. So why don’t we go get a decent cup and we can talk about the long list of demands you slipped under my door, roomie?”

She’d wanted to say no.

In fact, her first instinct had been to run back into her home as fast as she possibly could and lock all the doors behind her. She’d watched enough Law & Order and Criminal Minds to know that even the stereotypical “guy-next-door” types were capable of being psychopaths, and nothing about this man with his tattoos and expensive car and asshole tendencies exactly radiated _safety_.

He’s actually what her Daddy’s nightmares (where she’s concerned) probably look like.

Yet, she hadn’t been _scared_ of him.

More like, morbidly fascinated; in the way children are when they are fully aware they shouldn’t do something, but can’t stop themselves from giving into the temptation that promised a new experience – be it an adventure or lesson or memory or whatever it is you want to call it.

She was sick and tired of always playing it safe.   

“Fine,” she’d shrugged, ignoring every warning bell going off in her head and deciding that for once in her life she would take a risk and see where that led her. “But, just to clarify, that was so not a list of demands. And you’re buying.”

See what she’d meant, about needing professional help?

…

So, that’s how it starts, and this is how it grows:

He buys her coffee that day.

And the next.

And every other day after that.

It’s the good kind, too, even if she still can’t figure just where the heck he’s actually getting it from. The cups are Styrofoam and brand-less and heaven knows it’s not Starbucks and after the third week of him showing up at her doorstep at seven in the morning with a box of doughnuts (the day’s variation, because apparently Seth was an equal-opportunity kind of guy, who firmly believed in keeping every diner in a ten-mile radius in business) minutes after she’d had the dire realization that her jeans were actually fitting a bit _tighter_ than they were before he strolled into her life with his carbs on carbs lifestyle, she’d invited him in for a _decent_ breakfast.

You know, with things like whole-grain English muffins and fresh fruit and Greek yogurt.

Apparently, she should have clarified that it wasn’t an open-ended invitation.

Because now he’s always in her house; snooping through her kitchen drawers in search of her candy stash and flicking through her music books while she’s trying to study when she’s only got fifteen minutes before class and laughing it off when she tries to kick him out so she can rehearse and freaking offering to drop her off on campus to make it up to her and Kate isn’t sure what type of girl it makes her that she’s so willing to let this man who is still technically a stranger halfway move into her house in exchange for excellent coffee and rides to school and unsolicited advice but she’s decided to roll with the punches.

If anything, it makes her a _resourceful_ girl.

There you go: something that she can put in her resume under the Skill section.

Anyways, there are limits, though.

Like, yeah, sure, she might force him to sit down on her thrift-store couch and listen to her practice the same verse indefinitely on her cello, demanding his honest opinion and vehemently requesting his harshest critique, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to let him invade every part of her life or that she’d ever invited him to any of her recitals or that he’s allowed to show up at her shows and in return she still doesn’t know where he works or why he’s out every night or how he manages to afford his stupid car that always has people staring at her like she’s some sort of _hussie_ when they see her sliding out of it before he speeds of and it’s not like any of that is merited because she is so _not_ interested in anything with him besides his pseudo-friendship and –

And.  

And Jesus, who the heck does she think she’s kidding?

She should have gone to the all-girls school like her Daddy wanted.

…

“What do you mean _we’re_ going grocery shopping?”

He’s leaning against the counters, looking perfectly at home even though his frame alone is broad enough to take up half of the free space in her tiny kitchen and Seth’s stuffing a bag of Hot Cheetos down his throat and washing it down with one of the beers he somehow managed to stash in _her_ fridge when she wasn’t looking because _what’s the point in going all the way upstairs for one when I’m always here_ and _come on, Princess, you can welcome yourself to one anytime_ and _shit, I always forgot this ain’t Mexico and you gotta wait till you’re twenty-one_.

She must have been someone horrible in a previous life to be stuck with him in this one.

“It means,” Kate huffs, crossing her arms below her chest and narrowing her eyes in defiance. “That you, and that black hole you carry around and call ‘stomach’, have wiped my refrigerator out for the rest of month.”

“I’m a growing boy, Princess,” he shrugs, and the way the ropes of muscle he carries around on his shoulders bulge is borderline indecent. “I need energy.”

“You’re thirty,” she deadpans.

“I work out?” he offers, turning his face and granting her one of his signature shit-eating grins.

“And what, exactly, is the protein count on the jar of Nutella you shoved down your throat this morning?”

“It’s Cheat Day.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“Jesus, have you seriously never heard of the YOLO philosophy?”

“Oh my goodness,” Kate snaps, “Stop stalling and grab your wallet. This is the first free day I’ve had in a month and I will not waste it arguing with you. We’re going and that’s a done deal.”

…

In hindsight, she should have known that taking Seth out in public was never a good idea.

“Can you give me one good reason why there’s six bags of chimichangas in my shopping cart?”

“Because they’re amazing.”

Kate sighs, taking a deep breath before trying again.

“You said the same thing about the Captain Crunch. And the beer. And all the chips.”

Seth grins. “I stand by my word.”

She groans.

“You’re aware that those things are going to be the reason you get taken out in your fifties, right?”

“You know, my brother and I have this motto that we’ve followed all our lives,” he starts, “It goes, ‘ _here’s to getting rich and fat_ ,”

“How original,” Kate mocks, but she can’t stop the laugh from running out of her lungs when he pinches her hip in retaliation and corners her against the cookie aisle.

He leans down close enough for her to feel his beard scratching her cheek, because for someone who prides himself so much in his _tough guy_ persona he’s really got to work on his _personal space_ issues where she’s involved, and she hates the fact that she’s borderline _swooning_ over it because apparently she’s _that_ type of girl now.

“ _And dying in the arms of a beautiful woman_.”

Her breath hitches at the implication, and God, this is either the most romantic or the most ridiculous thing (both, both is good) that’s ever happened to her because for goodness’ sake he’s whispering in her freaking ear while she’s literally between his arms and this feels like a scene out of the trashy romance novels her momma used to love reading but she’s also got to consider the fact that she’s in a _grocery store_ and she’d just been arguing with him about his shitty eating habits and neither of them has ever even hinted at this _thing_ that they’ve got going on between them being anything more than whatever the heck it currently was.

And it’s confusing.

_He’s_ confusing.

But, when he’s standing so close and staring at her the way he is with his stupid brown eyes that got specks of green and his stupid three-piece that gets filled out in every way that matters and his stupid mouth and his stupid lips and his stupid grin, it’s kind of easy to forget about it.

He’s so close, and he’s moving _closer_ , and she swears that he’s going to break whatever plausible deniability they’ve got going on and he’s going to _kiss_ her and she’s going to _let_ him.

Except, her phone beeps with a new message, and whatever trance they were both in gets broken and Seth backs away like if she’d shoved him off and when she tries to talk to him again he just avoids her gaze and wanders away until she’s done shopping and he silently hands his card over to the checkout lady and doesn’t speak to her at all during the ride back and when they finally get home, he actually excuses himself and locks himself in his floor and she doesn’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

The next morning, he doesn’t bring her coffee.

…

Now, here’s the thing:

Before there was this whole mess with the _asshole_ that is otherwise known as _Seth Gecko_ , there was _Rafa_.

(Well, actually, before Rafa there was _Kyle_ , but Kyle is a story for another time.)

Anyways, he’s the Student Aide for her Cultural Anthropology professor and it’d turned out that he was also a music major who’d be graduating in a semester and had taken an interest in her.

Rafa was smart and sweet and he had a bizarre and blunt sense of humor that always had her laughing when she shouldn’t be and he’d use his break to walk her to her next class every Tuesday and Thursday and he’d keep flirting with her and making her blush and calling her _Katerina_. He was handsome in a very underrated way, like a boy who hadn’t finished growing into his looks yet, and Kate had genuinely liked him.

It would have been easy to let herself be swept off her feet by him.

He wasn’t complicated.

He didn’t have a fancy car or tattoos or a secret night life. He didn’t constantly check over his shoulder whenever they were out in public. He didn’t look like trouble and he sure as hell never caused it.

Kate could have easily held his hand and closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his.

But he didn’t make her heart beat faster, either.

So, she’s tried her best not to lead him on. She’d quietly explained that she wasn’t ready to date anyone at the time, because there was someone else who had her confused at the moment and it wouldn’t be fair to drag him into that, and Rafa (sweet Rafa, who would never dare to judge) had told her that he understood and was happy waiting for her to make up her mind.

She just hadn’t expected Seth to be the one to make it up for her.

Seth, who hasn’t stopped by in a week. Who comes in and out while she’s in class and won’t answer her text messages and is in general being very asshole-like. Who, if she wasn’t too angry to admit it, is pretty much breaking her heart.

And, you know what?

Like, _fuck him_.

If he wants to be an emotionally constipated jerk, whatever. She’s got enough to deal with without adding him and his non-existential romantic drama and before she can change her mind she’s pulling out her phone and calling Rafa and inviting him over for dinner because she will not be the kind of girl that sits around wasting her days away over some douche who stood her up or led her on and yeah.

Yeah, she’s okay.

She’s going to be just fine.

Kate spends the rest of the day cooking and cleaning and organizing her living room and trying her best to erase every sign that Seth was ever here and for a moment it’s easy to trick herself into believing it. It’s easy to remember who she was before he stuck his nose into her business and it’s even easier to remember all the expectations she had for herself and how she’s promised herself that being on her own would be amazing and that this was her shot at showing the world that she was grown up.

It was time to get back to that.

…

There’s a knock on her door at a quarter to seven.

Kate opens the door without bother to check the peephole, figuring that it was more than likely Rafa showing up a few minutes early, but when she looks up it’s to find the wrong boy in his place.

“Got a minute?” Seth asks, lifting the tray with two cups of coffee and a bag of croissants up as a peace offering. “We need to clear some stuff up.”

Kate can only blink at him.

Another perfectly good plan, shoved out the window.

…


	3. time to back off, motherfucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at what I finished, even though you tried to knock on Frank Delfino, Stacey.

…

“Nope.”

Seth blinks.

And then, “what?”

“I said I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Kate clarifies, and if she gets a viciously glorious sense of satisfaction out of the perplexed and absolutely lost expression on his face, well, she’s woman enough to admit it.

“Okay,” he sighs, apparently having being granted the gift of enlightenment during the twenty seconds of gaping like a freaking blowfish he just experienced. “I get it; you’re pissed at me.”

Kate scoffs. “Why would I possible be upset with you?”

“I shouldn’t have pulled a Houdini on you the way I did,” he admits, and Kate can see the effort it’s taking him to shove the words out of his lungs like if they were literally _torturing_ him and maybe she should feel just a tiny bit of compassion and understanding for this man who obviously has the worst case of emotional constipation in the recent history of mankind but all it does is _infuriate_ her.

“I hadn’t even noticed.”

Lies.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

But she’ll be damned if she ever admits of missing him to the asshole’s face.

“Right,” Seth drawls, and you know what, like, screw him for having the audacity to call her out on her meticulously executed bluff. “Anyways, I was doing some thinking and-.”

She cuts him off.

“Careful, you don’t want to hurt yourself.”

He scowls. “Cut it with the sass, Princess.”

“You were saying?” Kate prompts, all sweet voice and wide smile, and maybe if he wasn’t staring at her as intently as he was and maybe if she didn’t have her mother’s fury so clearly present in her eyes, a third party might have been foolish enough to believe she wasn’t contemplating his murder in cold blood. “ _Please_ , I’m dying to know what conclusions you got to.”

Seth frowns, but carries on.

“This _thing_ ,” he says, using his fingers to motion between the two of them like if she wasn’t highly aware that this _whatever_ had mutated into a freaking succubus that was sucking her hopes of having a normal and peaceful life dry and leaving shriveled dreams in its wake. “It can’t happen.”

And, okay, yeah, she’d been waiting for him to show up saying those exact words since four days ago, back when she realized he was avoiding her, but that doesn’t mean that they somehow magically don’t _sting_ , even though she’s standing in her favorite dress while she waits for another boy to knock on her door and help her forget.

Because, against every warning bell in her head and every ounce of reasoning and shred of self-preservation she possesses, she’d somehow managed to go ahead and sort of _fall_ for this asshole who thinks it’s okay to eat her food and go through her things and make her feel like he’s someone that she can depend on when he stares at her like she’s some sort of _revelation_ to him and when he corners her against the cookie shelves in the grocery store and – and.

And.

And this same guy who makes her feel like she’d maybe found someone who would know how to be with her _without_ trying to _change_ her is standing in his bible-salesman suit in the middle of her living room, telling her that he’s already decided what their future is while basing himself on _purely unfounded assumptions_ and without even bothering to discuss with her any other possibilities.

Kate might just murder him.

She wants to yell at him that he’s wrong and that she doesn’t care about him.

She wants to punch him on his stupidly gorgeous face.

She wants to do so many things but her mind is cloudy and her eyes are doing their best to fight back the ill-timed tears that are pooling under her lids and her throat is closing up and she has this unnerving feeling that if she were to try and say a word, all that would come out is a sob.

Which, _hell fucking no_.

Because she’s been through enough actual and legitimate _heartbreak_ to let herself crumble so pathetically over this bizarre situation she willingly ran into and she really can’t picture a world in which she’d ever be able to forgive herself if she cried over a man who didn’t want her back.

She’s got more dignity left than that.

So, she takes a deep breath, picks up her pride, and holds her head high to take him straight on as she stomps down on whatever remnants of those traitorous tears are left in her lungs until the acid in the pit of her stomach churns them over in the tragic death they so thoroughly deserve.

Seth, for his part, looks as if he’s torn between bolting for the door or sticking around for her _inevitable_ breakdown. He’s staring with bated breath, waiting for the moment his words sink in and the waterworks begin, because _of course_ she’s still just a stupid little girl to him who can’t handle a rejection. He’s staying because he feels _sorry_ for her.

And, you know what, _fuck that._

If he thinks he’s got her sussed already, he’s got another thing coming.

“Fine,” she shrugs, appearing completely nonchalant to even the most meticulous observers. “Good talk. Now, if you don’t mind, my date will be here any second and I’d really appreciate it if you were gone by then.”

The completely astonished expression on his face is priceless.

“Wait,” he says, shoving his head back before leaning forward in what Kate likes to believe is an effort to knock some sense into his thick skull. “What?”

“You wanted to talk and you already did,” she answers, staring down at her hands to examine the chipped nail polish that’s become so much more interesting than him. “You can go now.”

“Don’t you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Seth pauses, studying her every move for clues that she’s feigning her disinterest (which she is, but that’s none of his freaking business), and Kate is extremely proud of herself for not squirming under his stupid stare or faltering over the even stupider pout that forms on his lips.

“Okay,” he echoes, and then, “That’s good, right?”

“Yup,” she nods. “Peachy keen.”

“Good,” he verifies, sticking his hands inside his pockets but not actually doing a thing to move out of her home. “I’ll see you around, right?”

“You do remember we both live here, right?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head before he remembers their current living arrangements and she can swear she sees a faint blush underneath his thick beard. “Right.”

He finally turns to leave, and he’s just about to reach the door when – and Kate will go to her grave claiming as much – her body is momentarily taken over by an ancient and vengeful queen’s spirit and she’s rushing behind him before he can leave because she just _has_ to do this before she loses her chance or courage or whatever sort of insanity is coursing through her veins.

“Wait,” she calls, reaching for his hand, and he only has enough time to stop and start to turn when she’s launching herself against him and using her free hand to pull his head down and then she’s _kissing_ him.

Well, she’s technically got her lips on his, given that the asshole isn’t kissing her back.

Seth seems to be frozen in shock, shoulders hunched under the force of her hands and head bent at an odd angle to adjust the height difference between them. One of his hands is still clutching the door handle for balance and his eyes are wide open but his mouth won’t move even when she presses a soft kiss on his bottom lip. Suddenly, Kate has this morbid realization that maybe he _wasn’t_ lying about not being interested in her and here she is, throwing herself at him like some lovelorn teen in a Twilight book and _God_ , no wonder he’s running for the freaking hills.

Kate pulls back, slamming her eyes shut in a vain effort to hide her embarrassment and her fingers are curling around the skirt of her dress in what she _knows_ is one of her nervous habits and then she’s whispering “ _please just go_ ” and hoping that for once in his life he actually lets her keep what little remains of her pride and listens when she asks him to do something.

Of course, he doesn’t.

Instead, he’s pulling her close and it’s _his_ turn to kiss _her_ and his hands are cupping her ass and lifting her higher to obliterate the remaining distance between them and in a heartbeat everything escalates and he’s flipping them around so he can press her back against the wall as his hands slide down her thighs and deftly guide her legs so that they’ll wrap around his hips and keep her pinned in place. Kate shivers when his hands begin to roam, one resting dangerously low on her back while the other settles on the base of her neck, fingers curling against the long strands and gently tugging on them to reach the perfect angle to deepen their kiss.

Okay.

She will admit that he’s pretty damn good at this.

Kate pulls away just enough to catch her breath, and Seth takes the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses along her jawline and down the length of her throat before deciding to focus on a spot right above her clavicle, nipping and sucking what she knows will result as a very large and very visible hickey and she’s about to complain – really, _she_ _swears_ – because, um, yeah, she is _so not_ up to being marked like she’s some sort of _property_ but then his tongue is hot and heavy as it slides across his handiwork and Kate is not above denying that she releases a loud and panted out moan as her fingernails dig into his shoulders when he blows his cool breath onto it.

She doesn’t have to see his face to know there’s an arrogant smirk plastered onto his lips.

She can _feel_ it against her skin.

Seth kisses her again, keeps her breathless and lightheaded and dazed as her heartbeat threatens to pound out of her chest, and her hands shift to bury themselves into the hair on the back of his head at the same time that his own hands move to cup her breast and clutch onto her waist and she can’t help the surprised gasp she exhales when his hips thrust against hers and Kate can feel the pressure _growing_ uncomfortably within and between them and it is not a _conscious_ choice when her own hips grind back hard against his in her effort to find a release and she has to _stop_ as the sensations crash into her.

She’d never had anything feel so good before.

Apparently, Seth can tell as much, too.

He freezes.

“ _Shit_ , no. We gotta stop.” he groans, shaking himself out of his thoughts as he quickly detaches her legs from around him and holds her only long enough for her to find her balance before he’s placing as much space as possible between them.

“What?” she demands, still a bit daze but having the physical distance feel like the equivalent of a bucket of cold water being dropped on her. “You cannot be serious right now.”

For the record, he is.

“I told you, Kate,” Seth sighs, running a hand through his hair in what she knows is one of _his_ nervous ticks and looking away as if he can’t bear the sight of her. “This can’t happen.”

“You can’t just do this,” she declares, unable to decide whether she should laugh or cry at the absurdity of this whole situation. “You can’t just kiss me like that and then decide you’re going to change your mind.”

Oh, but he can.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I’m doing you a favor,” he shakes his fucking head at her like if he’s being reasonable with her because he’s got some sort of wisdom that she’s too naïve to understand yet. He’s back to treating her like if she’s just some stupid kid while he’s the _experienced_ adult and Kate doesn’t think she’s ever felt so betrayed by anyone in her entire life. “You don’t want this.”

Because, granted, she’d had a ton of people in her life who’d felt entitled to dictate the way she lived and the choices she made in what they believed to lead to her best interest, but not _one_ of those people had done so seconds after _dry humping_ her inside her own home and then shaking off the whole experience as a _mistake_ that could not, under any circumstances, be repeated.

She’s better than this. She _deserves_ better than this.

If he wants to leave, then let him fucking leave.

“ _Fuck you_ , Seth Gecko.”

Never mind.

The way the curse feels as it rolls off her tongue – _that’s_ the greatest thing she’s ever felt.

“Kate,” he tries for her name again, no doubt about to hit her with some very motivating words of inspiration about how she’ll find someone who’s right for her, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

She’s done.

“Just get out!” she demands, throwing the door open without breaking eye contact or bothering to check for a possible audience. “Go be a prick to someone else and leave me alone.”

She’s _so_ close to finding the solitude she’s desperate for, except:

“Do you welcome all your guest the same way,” a smooth and clipped voice cuts through the silence, and Kate’s snaps her head around so quickly at the unexpected and foreign sound that she’s afraid she might get whiplash. “Or is that saved specially for my brother?”

There’s a tall man with glasses standing two steps away from her front step, dressed in a crisp black suit that’s nearly identical to Seth’s own, and an impeccably dressed woman that looks like she belongs on the cover of a high-end fashion magazine looking extremely unimpressed.

Kate looks down at her own clothes, mortification filling her when she realizes her dress is still bunched up high enough on her waist from when her legs had been wrapped around Seth’s hips for the bottom of her pink cotton panties to be visible and making it apparent for the world to know what they’d been up to only minutes before, you know, just in case her mussed hair and swollen lips and the bright red burn his beard scratched into her throat and chest wasn’t enough of a giveaway.   

And, of course, let’s not forget the fucking hickey.

This night seriously couldn’t get any worst.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And if he wants to leave, then let him leave." is a quote from Warsan Shire, because she's a freaking genius. 
> 
> I hope everyone liked this chapter! Rafa will be making his appearance in the next one, but I couldn't help myself with Richie and Kisa popping up in this one. Because that's exactly what Kate needs. More Geckos in her life. 
> 
> Also, I apologize for my updates being so spotty, I just got back from summer vacations and it was straight back to work as soon as I got here. It should be getting back to normal-ish now. Huge thank you to everyone who takes the time to leave such wonderful comments here and on my tumblr account! 
> 
> Next up: Carry The Ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> Carry The Ghost will be updated very soon, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head.   
> Anyways, I hope you're interested! Let me know what you think so far! The goal is to keep this story at a 5 chapter maximum, so things are going to be moving along fairly quickly!  
> Coming up: Kate proves why she's the queen of sarcasm and Seth has no clue what he's in for.


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